


Aflame

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angsty smut and fluffy smut, Communication, F/M, Face Sitting, New Relationship, Oral Sex, Smut, performance anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke encounter an unexpected obstacle on the road from friends to lovers. Future fic.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 180
Collections: Bellarke smut





	Aflame

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to smutty Saturday. Can we make that a thing? We're in Sanctum here, which is conveniently at peace in the future. Don't question the political situation too hard - that's not exactly the main event. Please consider this a gift to all you lovely people who left kind comments about the realism and relationship dynamics in the sex scenes in "Together". You really gave me the courage to write more material about the insecurities our faves might face in the bedroom!
> 
> Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this - I don't know how you get it done so quickly. Happy reading!

Bellamy is enjoying having sex with Clarke, really he is. _Obviously_ he is. He's been in love with her for literally centuries, and now they've finally found themselves on the same page and decided to give it a go.

It's just that whenever he imagined their first time – which he did, thoroughly and often – he never imagined it being quite like _this_.

The problem is that he's so nervous he can barely think straight. He knows he doesn't need to be this jittery – or perhaps even _frightened_. He's had sex plenty of times before, with plenty of people. He knows how it works, and he knows how to make it good for his partner.

But he's scared shitless, right now, because this is _Clarke_. This is the love of his life, and this is her finally deciding she wants to sleep with him, and he can't mess it up. He'll never forgive himself if he hurts her, or scares her off, or if this is anything less than the best sexual experience of her life.

He tries to push his nerves to one side and concentrate on building up a rhythm, on listening to her little breathless gasps and adjusting accordingly.

He can't do it. He simply can't do it – the pressure of making this perfect is all too much for him, and it's sapping any pleasure he ought to be feeling. He's annoyed about that, because Clarke is as stunning as ever and he's pretty sure this ought to be more fun. He hates himself a little for noticing that, although she's her usual beautiful self in appearance, she doesn't seem to be contributing to proceedings quite as wholeheartedly as he might have hoped for. He sort of expected more _personality_ from her, somehow, but she's just kind of lying there and breathing loudly.

He risks a glance at her face, trying to gauge whether she's enjoying it at least, and what he sees there almost makes him recoil in horror. She's frowning, hard, and it doesn't look much like a grimace of pleasure. If he's being entirely honest, he thinks it might almost be a _wince_.

"Are you OK? Am I hurting you?" He asks, frantic.

"I'm fine." She huffs out.

Fine. _Fine_. Yeah, _fine_ was not what he was aiming for, here.

That's when it all falls apart, really. He becomes ever more concerned about her lack of enjoyment, and ever more anxious about why the hell he cannot just stop overthinking it and love making love to Clarke. He's not normally one to feel fear, even in life-or-death situations, so he's judging himself for getting so nervous now. And then he starts getting self-conscious, too, realises that he's all sweaty and his hair is sticking to his forehead in this really gross way as he see-saws pointlessly against her.

Undignified. That's what this is. And he's pretty sure that sex with the love of his life isn't supposed to be _undignified_.

He's so overwhelmed by distress that his cock is actually going limp inside of her. A hot flush of shame washes over him at that realisation, because he's pretty sure that's never happened in his life before, and he cannot believe that it is happening now of all days, right in the middle of his shambolic first attempt to sleep with Clarke. And then, following right behind that comes a cold wave of horror at the thought that she must be able to feel him growing soft. What if she thinks it's a reflection on her? What if she thinks he's not attracted to her now he's seen her naked? Nothing could be further from the truth.

He's long past anxious now, half way to outright panic. This must spell the end of their pitifully short relationship, he fears. She won't want him after this. And he can't see how to save the situation, can't think of -

There's a loud noise from outside. An explosion, it sounds like, and it has the building shaking around them. All at once, Bellamy freezes, that half-limp cock still uselessly in place mid-thrust.

"We should go see what that was." Clarke suggests, voice infuriatingly level. He is hit by another wave of frustration that he couldn't get her even a little bit excited.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

He pulls out, gets dressed as quickly as he is capable of. Clarke throws her clothes back on, too, and the pair of them head towards the door. He can read the urgency in her body language – Sanctum is supposed to be at peace, now, so an unexpected explosion is very bad news indeed.

Just as they reach the threshold, Clarke pauses. She reaches up, presses a soft kiss to his jawline.

And then she goes to face the music and leaves him trailing pathetically in her wake, wondering if that kiss means the same, today, as the all-too-similar kiss she left him with after Mount Weather so many years ago.

In short, he is wondering whether this is goodbye.

…...

The explosion was caused by a fire in the tavern kitchen, it turns out. It's bad – a canister of gas went up with a bang – but it could be much worse. They're not under attack and the world is not ending. No one was even hurt, seeing as the kitchen was empty at the time. All in all, it's good news, and Bellamy reckons they could safely go back to bed and their hopeless attempt at lovemaking, if they wanted to.

Clarke doesn't want to. She wants to be the first to volunteer for the bucket chain that has sprung up to put the fire out. It's not clear to him whether she's volunteering because she's _Clarke_ , and she has to be the first to volunteer for any duty that is for the common good, or whether she's just looking to postpone the inevitable moment when they either try fruitlessly fucking once more or else agree that they're never doing it again. In fact, he rather suspects she might want them to forget all about it.

He stands next to her in the bucket chain. Of course he does. He loves her, and a little sweaty sex isn't going to change that.

Everyone else hefting the heavy buckets around is a fit young man. He has the utmost respect for Clarke's strength, but she's half the size of anyone else here and has lived a tough life, all things considered. He knows her leg still aches from that bear trap, sometimes.

"You OK?" He asks her, about ten minutes in. He can't just stand here and not check.

"Yeah. Fine." She grunts. He hates that word, he really does.

"I can cover your space too if you need to take a break." He offers.

"I said I'm fine, Bellamy." She gets the words out between gritted teeth.

He nods, really not keen to have a fight with her on top of the rather massive disappointment her has already handed her today.

They hand over their buckets in silence for a few more minutes. He thinks he catches her looking at him out of the corner of her eye once or twice, but he's here to put a fire out, not worry about his relationship.

That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

Abruptly, Clarke speaks, surprising him. "Thanks for checking. Sorry I snapped at you."

He nods, not sure what to say.

"I actually kind of do need to take a break, but I don't want you to hurt yourself. I'm going to ask Murphy to swap with me." She explains, nodding to where he stands in the crowd of onlookers.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Take care yourself, OK?" He risks a glance up and finds that she is frowning at him.

"Will do."

"I'll be keeping an eye on you." She threatens, a little teasing light beginning to return to her tone. "Catch you later. Love you."

With that she is gone, before he can even decide how to reply. She still loves him? That's news to him. He doesn't much love himself right this moment, if he's being honest. And now he feels even worse, because she's run off before he got chance to reaffirm he feels exactly the same way about her, and this is all too -

"Hey, man." Murphy slots into the line at his side. "You look like you just ate a cactus."

Bellamy feels a little like he just ate a cactus, now he thinks about it. But he's not about to admit that to Murphy.

"Clarke's worried about you. She said you're not allowed to overdo it." Murphy continues, regardless of his silence. "I think she just wants an excuse to stare at you, personally. Look at her – she's practically drooling over you. Disgusting."

Bellamy snorts. "You look at Emori like that sometimes, you know."

Murphy seems unconcerned. "That's allowed. We're engaged."

Hmm. That is true. And based on the way tonight is going, Bellamy is beginning to fear that marriage and babies and all the other aspects of that happy ending he's been dreaming of may not be on the cards for him and Clarke.

"Bellamy?" Murphy actually reaches out to prod him in between buckets. "You OK?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Just – god, it's frightening being in love, isn't it?"

It's Murphy's turn to snort in laughter. "Bellamy, you and Clarke have been in love longer than I've even _known_ Emori. What you mean is it's frightening finding a pattern for your relationship. But you'll get there."

Bellamy thinks about that for a moment. It strikes him pretty hard, really, because Murphy is not one to spout platitudes at his friends for the sake of it, so he figures he must really mean it. But more than that, he knows that Murphy and Emori have had plenty of problems with finding a stable footing for their relationship, over the years. He was there when they broke up, back on the Ring. Compared to that, he thinks, how bad is a little awkward sex, really?

And anyway, Clarke's still staring at him, as she stands a safe distance away from the flames. He's pretty sure she wouldn't be doing that if she'd decided that tonight was grounds to call it quits.

…...

Bellamy is exhausted, and he now smells like smoke as well as sweat. But the fire is out, and most of the tavern is still standing, so all in all, his night is going better than it was a couple of hours ago.

That's not saying much.

He's just putting away the last bucket when Clarke approaches him.

"You know, back on Earth before the bombs, some people found firemen very attractive. I think I can see why, now." She says, tone ostensibly light, but he thinks he can hear a certain tension beneath it.

He laughs, because he knows he's supposed to, but he can already feel his chest tightening once more. "I smell gross." He offers, apologetic.

She steps closer, shoves her nose right in his neck, and takes a long, loud breath. "You smell sexy." She says, again in that careful voice.

No. They can't keep doing this. Repeating the same experiment and expecting different results is insanity – that's something Raven used to tell him, up on the Ring, when he would get drunk on algae moonshine and cry about Clarke every damn time.

If they're going to have another go at making love, they're going to have to do things a little differently, he figures. They're going to have to find a way for him to be less nervous, and for Clarke to be less – well – _wincing_.

"We should talk." He announces, then instantly realises that sounded very abrupt.

Her face falls, fast and utterly devastated. "Bellamy – I – I'm -"

"I didn't mean that in a bad way." He reassures her, wondering how it is that they're having this conversation in the middle of Sanctum, right next to the well of all places. "I just think – that didn't seem to be great for either of us. So let's go home, and I'm going to change into something that doesn't stink, and then let's sit on the couch and cuddle and have a good long talk."

Her eyes light up right away. "Thank goodness. You – you had me scared, there." She gives a nervous laugh, a sound he's not sure he's ever heard her make before. "You're right. Let's go home and talk about it."

She sets off towards her house, then, and he makes haste to follow. It strikes him as rather odd that he's calling her place _home_ when they've been officially together for all of thirty-six hours or so, but he decides that's probably not top of his list of concerns right now.

He takes a deep breath, and reaches out for her hand. She doesn't seem to object to that at all – in fact, she laces their fingers together tightly – so he figures things aren't all bad, here.

They arrive at the home Clarke and Madi share, and in the end they decide to head straight to Clarke's bedroom rather than talking on the couch. They're both keen to avoid a situation with Madi walking into the living room while they're talking about their sex life. Clarke sits herself on the bed as soon as they arrive, while Bellamy picks through the bundle of clothes he left here yesterday for something to wear.

Again, it's maybe a little early to be leaving his stuff in her home, but Clarke doesn't appear to mind.

At last, he is dressed in clean clothes, and there is no excuse to procrastinate any longer. He takes a seat at Clarke's side and pulls her robustly into a hug.

"We'll work this out." She tells him firmly. "We've solved harder problems than this before now, haven't we? We've saved humanity more times than I can count, between us. I'm pretty sure we can figure out how to do better in the bedroom."

He nods, swallows heavily. "Yeah. I'm – I'm sorry about earlier."

She angles her neck sharply, looks up at him even while staying tucked into his side. "Don't apologise. Or let me tell you I'm sorry, too. I don't know. Just – it takes two."

He nods. The silence thickens, and he wonders what happens next.

"Should we maybe talk about why it – why -"

"Why it sucked?" Bellamy asks, keen to get the truth out in the open.

She makes an agreeing noise, and he can feel the tension in her shoulders. It strikes him, all at once, that this must be just as awful for her as it is for him. If they've both been waiting for each other all this time, they must both have been feeling the pressure, he figures.

He presses a soft kiss to the crown of her head and summons his courage.

"I was so nervous." He forces the words out. "I mean – I was properly _scared_."

"Why should you be nervous?" She asks, as if the very idea is madness. "You're way more experienced than me. You know what you're doing. I – I was nervous. I don't know what you like. And you've slept with a lot of hot women."

He snorts. "You've slept with your fair share of hot women too." He offers, and that softens the tense atmosphere a little. She gives a light chuckle, and he continues. "I was nervous because none of them were _you_. I've loved you for such a long time, I guess I'd really built the idea of our first time up in my head. I felt like there was a lot riding on it – like I had to get it right, or I wouldn't get to live with you and marry you and start a family and -"

She waves a hand, cutting him off. "We're doing those things. You're stuck with me now. I meant it when I said you're it for me." His heart feels lighter the moment she says the words, and he nuzzles into her hair with a small sigh.

"You, too." He offers, inadequate but honest.

They sit in a slightly more comfortable silence for a few moments. Bellamy thinks back over everything Clarke has just said, tries to decide what they need to discuss next. He's doing better, these days, at balancing his head with his heart, he thinks. He's still got a tendency to be ruled by his emotions – as his earlier panic proves, he muses – but he really is doing better at thinking things through most of the time.

"The only way you're going to find out what I like is by asking." He tells her softly. "Honestly, I like _you_. So if there's something you want to try, go for it, and I'll tell you whether or not I'm into it. Just – have a little more faith in yourself, you know?"

She nods. "You, too. There's no pressure for us to get this perfect right away. We have the whole of the rest of our lives to practise."

He rather likes the sound of that. This is new territory for him – the idea that he has someone in his life who loves him enough to stick around no matter what. He can see that he and Clarke have been like that for each other for years, now that it's all out in the open, but it's still taking him by surprise, somehow. His family relationships with his sister and mother had a lot of conditions built in, and were more about duty and responsibility than about love. And his romantic relationships with Gina and Echo were founded on loneliness and halfway decent sex rather than any deeper connection.

Clarke's right, he decides. They love each other, and the physical attraction is very much alive and kicking. They just have to work out the logistics and get to know each other's tastes.

It really doesn't seem so overwhelming, when he looks at it like that.

"Where do you want to start?" He asks, suddenly keen to get on with this, suddenly curious rather than nervous.

"I had an idea. We don't have to try it if you think it's silly or whatever. But I was thinking maybe we try just making out and getting to know each other's bodies for now, take sex off the table. No penetration, no pressure." She summarises, voice a little wobbly.

"That sounds perfect." He says, because it does. He could do with less pressure in his sex life, right now.

She nods and pulls out of his embrace at last. And then the two of them just sit there for a moment, frozen, apparently waiting to see who is brave enough to make the first move.

They both do, together, at exactly the same moment. Of course they do – working in unison has always been their strength, even if they're still figuring out how to carry that across to the bedroom.

Kissing Clarke has basically become Bellamy's favourite occupation in the last thirty-six hours. Her lips are soft, but she kisses firmly, almost decisively, as if she's trying to pour all of her conviction that this relationship is her happy ending into every single kiss. She takes it a little further today, though, as she is the one to get things moving, teasing the seam of his lips with her tongue.

This is more like it. This is what he expected, from Clarke Griffin's bedroom.

The thing about making out perched on the edge of her bed, is that before long they are in fact lying on the bed. He supposes that's hardly surprising – why waste a perfectly good bed? They make the most of it, taking the opportunity to explore each other's bodies with their hands. He wishes that they'd made time to do this earlier. He's learning all sorts of fascinating new information – it turns out that Clarke is a little ticklish, just above her hips, and that her giggle is delightful.

It turns out that she gasps in shocked pleasure, when he starts sucking gently on her collarbone.

"That's good." She tells him, as if he hadn't already worked that out.

And then, apparently emboldened by their relative success so far, she slides her hand confidently up the back of his shirt.

It's the silliest thing, but he actually moans. He actually lets out a full on _moan_ of pleasure just because she's got her hand on his lower back. It's only skin, he tells himself.

No. It's more than skin. It's _bare_ skin, Clarke's against his, and it's seriously good.

"You like that?" She breaks away from this kiss just long enough to ask.

"Yeah. So good." He punctuates his words with kisses.

She gets braver, slides her hand further. Bunches his shirt up until she's massaging his shoulders and his skin feels like it might be on fire.

"You know we said _just making out_ for today – how do you feel about _naked_ making out?" He asks, somehow already breathless.

She grins up at him. "Yes." Is all she says, but it's enough.

Within seconds, his shirt has been thrown into some distant corner of the room and his trousers are following close behind. He helps Clarke to undress, because he's a helpful guy like that, and adds a few kisses to the tops of her breasts, just above her bra, while he's at it.

" _Naked_ naked?" She asks, hand hovering at the waistband of his boxers.

"Up to you." He hedges. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

She grins ever wider, and tugs his boxers down his legs without so much as a heartbeat's hesitation.

"Can I?" He checks, hand on her bra clasp.

"Yeah. I want you to." She assures him.

Well, then. He wouldn't want to let her down twice in one night.

He always knew that Clarke had beautiful breasts, but this is the first time he's really taken them in. He was rather distracted earlier, and this is only the second time he's seen her stark naked. He therefore sets about making up for lost time, cupping one in his hand. It's too big, spilling over his palm, and the feel of the weight of it filling his hand shoots straight to his cock.

No. His cock is not supposed to be involved, here.

It doesn't matter – that's what he decides. Just because they're not going for penises in vaginas tonight, doesn't mean he needs to pretend he's not aroused. He knows Clarke is feeling much the same – her nipples are hard, pressing into his hand, and he can actually smell her growing wet from here.

No, that's another thing he probably shouldn't have noticed, if he doesn't want his cock to get involved.

He focuses back on her breasts, and that's easy to do because they're more than enough to hold his interest. He bends to suckle slightly at one nipple, and Clarke rewards him with a sharp breathy gasp.

"OK?" He checks, pulling away again.

"Good." She confirms succinctly, cupping a hand about his neck to urge him back down to her breast.

The thing about being naked with Clarke, it turns out, is that there are too many things he wants to check out all at once. Her breasts are brilliant – a little addictive, he thinks – but he also wants to tickle that particular spot on her hip, now that there's no fabric in his way. And he's pretty sure her legs don't get enough attention, and all of a sudden that seems like a thing that needs remedying – has anyone ever kissed along her thighs, and told her how beautiful they are?

Clarke interrupts this train of thought with a most unexpected question.

"When we said no sex – are we counting mouths?"

He looks up at her, confused.

She clarifies her question. "I mean – could I suck your cock? Or would that be breaking my own rule?"

"It might be breaking the rule." He concedes. "But if we're both comfortable with it that's fine, right?"

"Are you comfortable with it?" She asks him outright, and he is grateful for her directness.

"Yeah. I'm really enjoying this, Clarke." He admits in a moment of utter honesty, pressing a kiss to her temple. "How are you doing?"

"Really good. That's why I want to suck your cock." She tells him with a grin.

"Great. Go for it."

He's not sure what he's expecting to happen now. He's presuming that maybe they'll rearrange themselves, or that there will be an awkward pause while they switch from _making out_ gear to _blowjob_ gear. But it's not like that at all – it all flows organically, Clarke sort of twisting on the spot, pressing a few kisses to his torso, until she can reach his cock with her mouth.

"Clarke." He chokes on her name as she takes him down her throat. "Clarke. That's – yeah."

All things considered, not his most coherent sentence. But she doesn't seem to care, reaching one hand up to take his fingers and squeeze affectionately.

He lies back on the pillow and relaxes, simply enjoying the feel of her mouth working the length of his cock. She's good at it, moving slowly and deliberately while she gets him worked up, and her mouth is warm and wet and utterly gorgeous.

The way she's positioned herself, her butt is kind of hanging near his left shoulder. He's not sure what the protocol is, here. This doesn't seem to be a formulaic kneeling-at-his-feet type blowjob where he just watches her work. It feels more like an extension of their making out, just something they're trying while they explore each other's bodies.

He reaches out to rest a hand on her butt cheek, gives a little squeeze. That has her moaning, to his surprise and delight, and the sound vibrates against his cock as she sucks him off.

"Can I touch you?" He whispers, deciding that he might as well ask. She can always say no and cite the rule if she wants to – they've always been very honest with each other, after all.

"Mhmm." She agrees, cock still in her mouth.

He doesn't do anything particularly dramatic – this is not the moment for fireworks, nor for prodding aggressively at her clit and hoping for the best. He simply cups his hand around her, gives her something to grind down on while she works his cock.

It's pretty great, this. He's not sure how they managed to get it so wrong earlier, in retrospect.

Then it gets a thousand times better.

"Can I – could I sit on your face?" Clarke asks him softly, pulling away for a second.

This is it. This is what he dreamed of, when he dreamed of making love to Clarke – that demanding confidence, tinged with just a little bedroom shyness. He loves her for who she is – leader, decision maker, but with a heart of gold – and he cannot understand why she ever thought she had to hide that in the bedroom.

"Yeah." The word comes out as a throaty growl. "Yeah. I'd like that."

She doesn't hesitate, gets herself into position and gets on with riding his face. It's not something he's tried a lot of times before – not everyone is into it, and not everyone is brave enough to ask him if he's into it – but he has to admit that it's something that has often come to mind, in the past, when he's been fantasising about Clarke. Not because he sees himself as inherently _beneath her_ , or anything so straightforwardly daft, but because if he's being truly honest he really gets off on watching her call the shots. It's been like that since the beginning, since she first argued with him back at the dropship.

It's every bit as good as he imagined. It's like he's utterly surrounded by Clarke, smelling her and tasting her and feeling her. She's still working his cock at the same time, too, sometimes with her hand, sometimes bending forward and easing off him just a little so she can use her mouth.

The next time she does that, he wiggles his head to the side just enough so that he can speak.

"You know how we're not supposed to be having sex?" He asks, tone teasing.

"Mhmm." The noise vibrates against his cock as she hums. He honestly does have a real reason for starting this conversation, but he'd be lying if he said that the idea it might get her to hum against his cock again wasn't a contributing factor.

"Is it going to be OK if I come?" He asks. It's not an idle question. It's not going to be long, now, if she keeps this up.

She sits up to answer. "Definitely. I want you to. I want you to come down my throat and I'm going to swallow every drop." That takes him even closer, the sound of those words on her lips doing rather strange things to his insides.

"What if I don't want to take orders from you?" He teases her, playful.

"Would you rather I begged?" She asks sweetly.

He grunts. That's about the only sound he's capable of making, now. And then she takes his cock back into her mouth and he groans, embarrassingly loud, thrusting his hips up to meet her. She doesn't stay there long, though, sitting back onto his face and working with her hand while she writhes against him.

Seriously, why did they not try this earlier?

Suddenly he hears her voice, trembling, and strangely quiet.

"I'm going to come." She informs him, audibly nervous. "Is that – I -"

He wants to tell her it's OK. He wants to tell her he loves her, and that she means the world to him, and that she's safe to fall apart in front of him any time she feels like it. Most of all he wants to tell her that this has been quite possibly the greatest experience of his life, which is not bad going, for what has been in essence a bit of making out and a spot of oral.

But he can't tell her any of those things, because his mouth is a little preoccupied just now. So he reaches out for her free hand, squeezes it hard, and makes what he hopes is a broadly reassuring noise.

It comes out as a groan. What else? He can't help it – she's got him teetering on the edge.

She comes then, pulsing hard, sighing as she relaxes against him. She sits there for a moment, collecting herself, and somehow that's even better – just basking in the moment, proud that he's made her happy, as he feels himself climbing ever closer to the edge.

Then he's falling, hard and fast, and she's milking every last drop as she swallows it all down.

There's a beat of perfect silence, marred only by their own heavy breathing.

And then Clarke laughs.

"Told you we'd work it out." She says, swinging round to face him once more.

"That was – yeah." He contributes, not at all helpfully.

She leans in for a kiss, soft but deep, slow and tender.

"You taste good." She offers shyly. "I like how you taste of me."

He groans. She's going to kill him, if she keeps this up. "I like it too." He offers, kissing her once more for good measure.

She snuggles into his side, and he wraps an arm around her. It's a little sticky, because it's hot in here and they've been busy, but somehow it doesn't bother him as much as all that sweat was troubling him earlier.

"I love you." He informs her, because he's not said it for a while.

"I love you too." She echoes, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"That was pretty good for _not having sex_ , wasn't it?" He asks, although he already knows the answer.

"Yeah. Can't wait to see what happens when we actually screw."

"Give me ten minutes and I'll show you." He offers lightly.

"I'd like that. But it's the middle of the night." She sounds disappointed, and it brings a smile to his face – not her disappointment, as such, but the fact that she's now decided she's such a fan of sex with him.

That's not what he expected, at the start of the evening.

"I'm not going anywhere." He points out, because he's fairly certain of that for all that this is technically not his house. "Let's see how we get on. If we're still awake in a couple of minutes we try round two, and if we want to sleep we can try in the morning instead?"

"Or both." Clarke offers with a giggle.

He laughs at that, too, and runs a hand through her hair. He could get used to this, he thinks. He could get used to awesome sex with a wonderful woman, and to curling up afterwards in her bed and laughing together.

It's a good job that they're stuck with each other, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
